


A “We” Thing

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Anal Play, Comedy, Consentacles, Masturbation Interruptus, Not Prime Time 2019, Other, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-31 13:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: Is masturbation a “we” thing? Venom would like to know.





	A “We” Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



It hadn’t been a good day.

First thing this morning, he discovered that his bike had been impounded for a parking violation, which meant he’d had to take public transportation over to East Bay to make a scheduled interview with a YIMBY (a.k.a. “ **Y** es **I** n **M** y **B** ack **Y** ard”) fair housing rights activist based in Oakland. The deafening, metallic screech of the BART train as it passed along one particular section of track upset Venom so badly that by the time they were pulling into the 19th Street/Oakland station, Eddie was stumbling and weaving and lurching for the exit off the train like some caricature of a Monday morning 9 AM Alcoholics Anonymous dropout.

Then his YIMBY interview never showed. After two hours, five cups of espresso, and twenty calls to a cell number that was, the artificially feminine voice on the other end of the line informed him, no longer in service, he gave up. And since he didn’t want to chance the BART and its unholy screech a second time, and sans the money he’d get for writing the housing crunch article, which the interview who never showed meant he couldn’t finish writing, which meant he couldn’t afford to pay the fine to get his bike out of hock, let alone a fucking taxi, he had to take the bus back into the city, and most of the successive three hours of _that_ particular journey was spent waiting for that first bus in Oakland to arrive.

So suffice it to say that, when he _finally_ made it back to his post-breakup apartment in Chinatown, he was absolutely, positively _beat_. It was more a psychological thing than a purely physical thing, that was true, but mind over matter and all that jazz, and he didn’t even have the energy left over to throw frozen tater tots in the toaster oven. Instead, he just served himself up a Pepto Bismol triple chaser and tucked himself into bed in the (irrational, undying) hope that whatever he might chance to awaken to tomorrow would be better than today.

Which meant, of course, that he proceeded to fail utterly to fall asleep. Of course that’s what it meant. Tossing and turning and rearranging his pillows didn’t help. Well, there was nothing for it. Eddie had one last thing he could try.

He shimmied his pants down and took his still-soft cock to hand. He’d always preferred a more delicate touch to a coarse, rough one, and so he stroked the shaft between his thumb and his forefinger only, slowly but surely encouraging it to rise . . .

. . . which, on this particular occasion, it was steadfastly refusing to do. Hmph. Well, alrighty then! He needed to up his game, he supposed, so he tugged lightly on the shaft, pulling it out straight. Then he focused on the foreskin, rolling it gently up and down the glans, stopping on occasion to stretch and pinch it shut at the tip . . .

. . . and nothing. He remained as resolutely soft as Annie’s cat. Minus the claws and the teeth. Okay, okay, time to get serious. While he continued to stroke the shaft with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, he slipped his left behind his balls—not before stopping on the way to tug and cup and squeeze the sac a few times, though—to rub and press the puffy flesh of the perineum. Mmm, that was better. In fact, it felt almost nice; if only his cock weren’t still a sleeping cat—

**“EDDIE.”**

His thumb and forefinger froze mid-stroke. His other hand was lost somewhere between his legs, totally forgotten. “No, no, no! We’ve already had this discussion. Jerking off is a ‘me’ thing, which means that when I’m jerking off, you. Pretend. You. Don’t. Exist.”

**“YOU’RE TENSE. YOU NEED TO RELAX, EDDIE.”**

“Yeah, I’m tense because you’re in my head and my commute officially sucked lollipops because of you! Now stop talking and leave me to my alone time.”

**“NO.”**

“N-no?” Eddie echoed the Venom’s voice aloud, hating how stupidly scared he sounded and not quite able to compute what he would have sworn he’d just heard.

**“WE SHARE EVERYTHING. WHEN YOU FEEL GOOD, I FEEL GOOD.”**

“Wait, what?” Eddie groaned and covered his face with both hands. Goddammit, he should have known. “You feel it when I masturbate, and you like it when I orgasm.” Those weren’t questions; with that inevitable sinking feeling he often seemed to get where Venom was concerned, he realized he already knew the answers.

**“I CONSIDER THAT TO BE ONE OF THE MOST ENJOYABLE ASPECTS OF YOUR PHYSIOLOGY.”**

“Yeah? That makes two of us.” Except, orgasms were going to be off the table for the foreseeable future if—

**“I CAN HELP.”**

“H-help?” Eddie squeaked—

And then one of Venom’s tentacle-like appendages was stroking Eddie and replicating precisely the same techniques Eddie most enjoyed applying himself— _Fuck,_ he was ready to hang a flag so fast he actually felt lightheaded as all his blood rushed out of his brain and into his cock. And Venom was teasing his frenulum too—

Eddie shrieked when he felt a second curling, questing tendril exploring the space behind his scrotum. Okay, okay, yeah, he really liked being touched there too— _Holy FUCK_ , now it was playing with his asshole. He’d never dared play with his asshole—he was a coward, what could he say?—but he’d always _wanted to_ , and naturally Venom knew it. The tendril was stroking the ring of muscle, teasing, yes, and prodding, yes, yes, _yes_ , he wanted to feel Venom inside of him like . . . like . . .

When Venom pushed into him, the tendril bigger now, and thicker, practically an impalement, Eddie came, shaking and cursing as his semen poured out of him in long, powerful pulses almost hard enough to hurt, and Venom was there, both head and shoulders, because Eddie always wanted to cling to his lover while he orgasmed, and so Eddie wrapped his arms around Venom, and they held one another close as he convulsed, and Eddie kissed that fang-filled mouth, and that long, slick tongue felt so goddamn _amazing_ —

For a moment, Eddie may have blacked out.

**“IS MASTURBATION A ‘WE’ THING NOW?”**

Um, what part of him wanting to get some sleep did Venom not understand?! Eddie growled with annoyance at the interruption, but his heart wasn’t into it. He rolled onto his side and curled into a post-orgasmic, blissed-out ball. “It is if you shut up and let me sleep,” he muttered into the pillow.

**“DEAL.”**


End file.
